Hero's
by InvitationToIllusion
Summary: This is a Wee!chesters story that I came up with. Sam's POV about being a grade 6 boy. Yeah, so please review! I suck at summaries, I know! :
1. Homework

**TITLE: Hero's**

**AUTHOR:** MonikaLou.

**AUTHORS NOTES: **This story is dedicated to Sammygirl1963, who suggested to me that I should try to write a story that was based on Wee!chesters. I looked at the comment, and said "Hmm." So here it is, Sammygirl1963. This one is for you, my most dedicated reviewer yet! (Well, it isn't that hard to be since I have only written 4 stories!) Anyway. Please read and review! My confidence in my writing ability is kinda low at the moment, so…:/

**CHAPTER 1: HOMEWORK**

Samuel Winchester sat on his plastic chair. Looking up from his paper, he flicked his eyes around the classroom. Lachlan Morris was sitting on his immediate left, pen clutched in his fingers as he tried to scribble down his ideas into a readable sentence. Sam cocked his head, straining his head to read what Lachlan had written.

All Sam could make out was a word or two about Superman, a giant mechanical chicken with blisters and a spotty duck.  
Looking to his right, Sarah Watson was sticking her pen between her teeth, sucking on the end as her eyes stared out the window, obviously deep in thought. Sam leaned closer tyo see what she had written and read the first few lines about a ballerina.  
He was so intent on reading what others had written that it came as a shock when he heard his name being called out from the front of the class.

"Samuel Skurrie! Are you copying what Sarah has written?!"  
Sam sat up straight and turned his attention to the front of the class, shaking his head, causing his shaggy bangs to flop across his eyes. Swiping them away, Sam murmured, "no, Mam."

The class fell into a fit of giggles. Sam turned pink. The rest of the class thought it was funny that he called their teacher "Mam". He was the only one in their class that did. The rest called her 'Miss Roberts' or "Miss R'. Sam could not help it. It was built into his brain, written into his DNA to call adults names of authority.

Miss Roberts cocked her head. "Well, Sam, get writing!"

Sam looked down at his piece of paper. It was empty. Clean, save for the few starts he had tried to make and erased because he didn't like them.

Sarah had finished her page and was violently writing on another, hand whizzing across the lined page.

"Uh, Mam, I don't know what to write about." Sam said, voice wafting across the room.

Miss Roberts looked at him, eyes burning into his. She smiled, although sarcastically.

"Well, Sam, as we've just been discussing half an hour earlier, we are writing about our hero. Why we idolize them. What they do to save our planet, or to contribute to the wellbeing of our world."

There was a few groans from the table next to Sam's. Most of the class didn't want to be writing about superhero's. Or hero's in general. It was considered babyish.

Sam didn't have a problem with it. He thought writing about hero's was a good idea. Except for the fact that he didn't know what to write about. _Who_ to write about.

"So, what you mean to say, Sam, is that you haven't written a thing? Not even a word?"

Sam nodded.

Miss Roberts sighed and the bell went. Dismissing them, Miss Roberts motioned fro him to come up to the front. He followed.

When Sam reached the desk, she leaned forwards in her chair and murmured, "Look, Sam. You know this was due today. It's due in right now, see?"  
To illustrate her point, she poked a stubby finger on the top of the papers, smudging a word. But her focus was on Sam.

He remained silent.

Miss Roberts looked at him for a moment longer. "So, because I'm a nice person," She grinned, surveying him over her glasses, "I'm going to let you finish yours at home. This is only because up until now, your have been doing excellently. Top of the class, actually. You have been handing in your homework on time, you have been doing your work in class. So think of this as homework. You will finish it tonight and give it to me tomorrow, alright?"  
Sam smiled and nodded, saying, "Thankyou, Mam."

She waved him away, and he grabbed his bag, heading for the door.

"Sam?"

Sam turned and saw Miss Roberts staring at him again.

"Mam?"

"One day."

And Sam smiled.

So? What do you guys think? Worth continuing? I hope so, coz this is pretty fun to write! It's hard to believe that I was in grade 6 only…let's see… 3 years ago! Wow! So old now!

Sorry. Ill shut up. I'm waffling again!!


	2. Going to Bed

**TITLE: Hero's**

**AUTHOR:** MonikaLou.

**AUTHORS NOTES: **Okay. Second chapter, here it is. I hope that people will read and review again… Don't worry, not demanding you to. Just politely requesting you to. (I wont tell you that if you don't review I'll kill one of the characters off and then you'll be sorry…) Just joking, although, that's not a bad idea… :D

**CHAPTER 2: GOING TO BED**

Dean opened the bedroom door. His arm was freshly bandaged from the nasty cut he had received from the werewolf, but other than that, he was in high spirits. He and his father had banished another scum-sucking dog to the world of hell. Good riddance.

Pulling his head back into reality, he stopped in the doorway. Sam was sitting at the desk crammed into the tiny room, the scanty light illuminating his work.   
Walking inside quietly, Dean plonked himself on the bed closest to the door, the bed that he had claimed as his.

For a full minute, Dean didn't say anything. A world record.

Bored, he started tapping his boot with a finger. Sam blinked, but did not move his eyes from the paper. He was staring at it like he was forcing it to hit him with inspiration, but that didn't seem t be working.   
Grinning, Dean started to click his tongue in rhythm with his tapping.

"Stop it." Sam said, flicking him a look. Behind that look, Sam had tried to put all his frustration and anger, but all that showed up to Dean was his amusement.

"Whatcha doin?" Dean asked, pulling a muesli bar from his pocket and tearing into it.

Sam returned his attention to his paper, pen ready to write in his hand.

"Homework." Came the simple answer.

Dean swallowed an exceptionally large mouthful and grimaced as it tried to make its way down his esophagus. When he managed to swallow it all, he stared at the bar that was unwrapped in his hands.

"Frickin' hell, Sammy! Your in grade 6! You shouldn't have to be doing homework!"

Sam shrugged. Putting down his pen, he looked up at Dean. His soft brown eyes locked with Dean's and he cocked his head, adding to his puppy-dog look."What you doing here?"

Dean shrugged, grinning. "I was gonna ask you to slow dance with me and dad, but if your doing homework…"

Sam laughed and picked at his fingernails. "You haven't got any ideas for me, do you?"  
Dean swallowed the muesli bar again and coughed half of it back up. "Gosh, eating these things is like eating a brick!"  
To illustrate his point, he smashed the remaining muesli bar on the corner of the desk. As it collided, it shattered to a million pieces.

Dean stood. "What do you have to write about?"

Sam grinned. "Hero's. Why they change the world, what they do to help…"

Dean shook his head. Haven't got a clue, Sammy. But come out into the kitchen with me and dad. Maybe you will get some ideas there."

Sam sighed and gathered his things, following Dean out into the kitchen.

John Winchester was sitting at the table, grinding one of the silver hunting knives against the whetstone. He looked up as Dean came back, Sam trialing behind him.

"How's the homework, kiddo?" He asked, in a tone that was polite but not requesting an answer.

Sam replied anyway. "Not to good."

John nodded and Dean sat down next to his father, the chair creaking under his weight.

Dean threw a filthy look at his chair, as if daring it to collapse, which it dutifully did.

Sam roared with laughter as John nicked his finger with the knife, startled by the sudden loud noise. Blood started pooling around John's finger and he stared down at Dean with annoyance written on his face.

Dean stood and glared at the chair that had been supporting him, and then turned his attention to Sam, who was wiping tears from his face.

The look that Dean gave Sam was all the more funnier and caused Sam to laugh even harder, until he was holding his ribs in laughter. John was also chuckling, but when he realised that his blood was slowly dripping onto his diary, he stopped.  
Dean pointed a finger at Sam and said, deadly serious, "Right. That was not funny. You shouldn't be laughing."

Sam shrugged and sat down at the table, but his chuckling wouldn't subside. After Dean had finally snapped at him and told him where to shove his homework, Sam sighed and retreated once more to the bedroom.

Sitting down gently on the seat, which groaned under his weight, Sam flicked on the desk lamp. The measely light that illuminated his sheet only drove Sam t realise that his bedtime curfew was looming closer and closer and that he still hadn't written anything.

As he stared once more at his sheet of paper, he listen half-heartedly to the bickering going on outside the room.  
Dean was a chronic complainer. Always had been, always would be. He complained about everything. Flashbacks from hunts erupted in Sam's mind. Dean sitting on the Impala, leaning against a tree, all matched with complaints;

"_Oh, this tree is so damn ugly."_

"_Man, I'm bored out of my brains."_

"_Sam, you're looking exceptionally ugly today."_

"_It's freezing out here, I'm starving and you whining to me, Sammy, isn't making things any easier for me."_

"_Sam, please, just shut up for one minute, alright?"_

"_Dude, your breath stinks."_

Sam grinned. Then he had the urge to open the door to look at his brother.

Which he did.

Dean was sitting at the table, feet propped up on the wooden bench, oiling the Shawn up shotgun with his methodical way. His face was calm, eyes twinkling as he cracked a joke, which John gave a small smile at, and his fingers worked the gun over in a graceful way. They glided over the shotgun that Dean could load and shoot in the dark, knowing every lever, every tiny scratch on the gun like the back of his hand.

And as Sam watched his brother, Dean looked over at the bedroom door. Seeing Sam there, he poked out a tongue, and Sam took it as his warning to get to bed.


	3. Inspiration

**TITLE: Hero's**

**AUTHOR:** MonikaLou.

**AUTHORS NOTES: **Well, I'm getting there. I hope people are enjoying this. I hope Sammygirl1963 is reading this, coz I wrote it for you… Anyway, please read, enjoy and review!!! Ok, really short chapter here. I'll post the next soon. Real soon!!!

**CHAPTER 2: INSPIRATION**

When Dean came to bed, it was 10:30. Sam pretended t be asleep, and within minutes, Dean was off in the land of nigh-nigh. His arms and legs were splayed out on the bed in their usual display of ownership, and Sam was thinking about his homework. He had failed t do it. He didn't know who his hero was.

Watching his brother sleep, chest rising and falling slowly, Sam tried to define a hero. Was it a person that saved the world? No, Sam defined a hero as someone you can look to, to aspire to be like, someone who does good in the world and not someone widely known. Not someone who drew attention to themselves. Someone who was strong, would listen, was selfless, and takes pleasure in helping without boasting about what they had done.

And then Sam realised he was giving a perfect description of his brother.

The answer had been in front of him all along. Dean was not someone who walked around wearing a superhero cape, he was someone who wanted to be unnoticed. He was on the earth for others, not for himself. He saved the day. Period.

Slowly getting out of bed, Sam reached into his bag and pulled out the piece of paper. It was slightly crumpled, it had been squished by his pencil case, but he spread it out on the desk and turned on the light.

Dean murmured something, but did not wake. SAM sat down on the chair and began to write.

His pen scratched across the paper, and occasionally, there was silence, as Sam watched his brother, looking for those odd little habits that Dean did, like those short panting breaths when he slept. It seemed, that even in his dreams, Dean was never safe. He was always running.

And when morning came, Sam's personal piece lay tucked safely in his school bag.


	4. Submitting His Piece

**TITLE: Hero's**

**AUTHOR:** MonikaLou.

**AUTHORS NOTES:**

**CHAPTER 4: SUBMITTING HIS PIECE **

Sam sat at his desk. As usual, Lachlan sat on one side, Sarah on the other.  
Miss Roberts stood at the front of the class, hands on hips.  
Her eyes met Sam's and she called out, "Samuel? Are you finished?"

Sam nodded and pulled himself to his feet, under the weary eye of his classmates. Sometimes he felt out of place, knowing about all the demons that were out there, all the evil, twisted horrors that people saw in their worst nightmares. But this was all real, and sometimes Sam didn't want to know about them. But he did. It was just the way things were.

When he reached the desk of Miss Roberts, he placed his sheet of paper down on her folder. He winked at him and he smiled, before walking back t his seat. And at that moment, he wanted to run back to the desk, wrench his paper off the folder and eat it. He didn't want to share his deepest feelings that he harbored for Dean with a school teacher. But he had no choice. It was all that he could think of to write.

And so, with a heavy heart, he sat back down in his seat and focused on the book that they were meant to be reading. Sam had read the book before. It was called "The Outsiders." Written by an 18 year old girl. It was sad, but a very good story. He was up to page 72 when he heard his name being called out.

"Sam?"

Miss Roberts was holding his paper in her hand. She had a frown on her face and she looked at him with suspicion.

"Samuel, did you write this?" She asked, handing him his sheet of paper.

For a second, he had a heart attack because he thought Dean may have written rude words all over the page, but no, it was his writing, and his writing only.

Looking down, he read what he had written.

_I tried to define what a hero was. I did not come up with much. What I do know is that a hero is someone who is always there to save you, to save the day, to pick you up when you have no chance of making it up by yourself. I define a hero as someone you aspire to be, someone you look up to. Well, my hero has been in my life since the beginning and only noticed he existed last night at 10:47PM. He has always been there for me, like a real hero should. Has always saved the day. And always will continue to save the day. If my hero saw me writing this, he would laugh and tell me to grow up, but deep inside he would remember that it was he who told me that your are only young once, and that I should make the most of it.  
My hero is laying in the bed next to mine. He is sleeping. He is breathing. He looks like an ordinary person. He has two arms, two legs, one head and although I like to think and say otherwise, he has a brain. But what sets him apart is his heart. _

_My hero saves people. My hero has a job to do, it has been passed down from my father. It is a very solitary job. You have hardly any friends. People that have this job walk a very lonely road. They walk by themselves, and although my hero likes to say he is not afraid to be alone, I know different. I know he doesn't like to be alone, I know lots of things. I know that he is only following orders, but he doesn't deserve the job that he has been given. My hero is only 16, too young for the world to be dependent on. He is too young to be a soldier. And he is fighting in a war that has been raging for centuries. A war that only few people know of. _

_A war that will change the world._

_And so, if my hero ever reads these words, let him know that I will be the first to say thankyou.  
Thankyou that you pulled me out of that fire all those years ago. Thankyou for looking after me. Thankyou for being my father, even though your are only 4 years older than me.  
For a example of what I define as a hero, look no further than my brother, Dean._

Sam looked up at Miss Roberts, confused.  
She had raised her eyebrows, and said, "You wrote this?"

Sam nodded, frowning. "Yes, Mam."

Miss Roberts cocked her head. "Are you sure you wrote this? Is it your brothers writing?"

"No Mam. That is my hand writing." Sam said, handing back the sheet of paper.

Miss Roberts smiled, looking at the sheet of paper. "Then, Samuel, this is very well written."  
Sam didn't know what to say, so he kept quiet.

Miss Roberts continued. "So, may I enter this into a competition?"

Sam looked at Miss Roberts. Then he said simply, "No, Mam. I don't think I want it to be entered into a competition."

Miss Roberts frowned. "But, Samuel, this is a wonderful piece of writing, I really must insist-"  
Sam shook his head. "Thankyou, Mam, the opportunity, but I don't want my writing to be put in a book. I would like to keep it close to my heart, so that when the time is right, I will be able to show it to the world."

"And now is no the time?" Miss Roberts asked, handing Sam back his sheet after she had written a big A+ on the left hand corner.

"Now is not the time." Sam said with a small smile, and with a nod from his teacher, went and sat back down in his seat.

And as Sam opened his book up to page 72, he grinned to himself, knowing that he never would get the chance anytime soon to share what he had written. But, strangely, he didn't really care. Dean already knew that he was Sam's hero, and Sam would be ready for a time when Dean doubted himself, doubted whether or not he was worthy to walk the earth, that Sam would then show his older brother just what he meant to him.

-FINIS-

OK! Finally done!! Well, hope you guys enjoyed reading that little story I wrote. Please, please, please review! Well, I can't force you to, but hey. All you do is click down the bottom of the page 'review' and type! It's not that hard! I could do it and it takes me 5 minutes to write a simple text message! Ok. Well, enjoy your day!!!

Buh by!!

MonikaLou


End file.
